P.O.W

I trap myself further every time I stay……quite,
I shoot, start to speak,
But I stop and stay silent,
And now I’ve made my own hard bed,
Inside this prison,
Of words unsaid.

P.O.W,
That’s what I am,
Not a prisoner of war,
A prisoner of words.

Mostly I say what you wanna hear,
Could you take it,
If I came clear,
Or would you rather see me stoned,
On a drug of complacency and compromise.

M.I.A,
Guess that’s what I am,
Scraping this cold hard earth for a piece of myself,
For peace in myself.

It’d be easy if you just put me in jail,
If you lock me away,
I’d have someone to blame,
But these bars of steal are of my making,
They surround my mind and have me shaking,
My hands are cuffed behind my back,
I’m a prisoner of the worst kind in fact.

I’m a prisoner of compromise,
A prisoner of compassion,
A prisoner of kindness,
A prisoner of expectation,
A prisoner of my youth,
Runs too fast to be old,
I’ve forgotten what I was told,
Ain’t I sight to behold.

A prisoner of age dying to be young,
To my head is my hand with a gun,
And it’s cold and it’s hard,
Cause there’s nowhere to run,
Where you’ve caged yourself,
By holding your tongue.